


The First Temptation

by thebolderthing (Officialacejolras)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Agnes Nutter's Prophecies, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Post-Armageddon, or dare I say.... Yearning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 09:30:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19971817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Officialacejolras/pseuds/thebolderthing
Summary: After the Armageddon-that-wasn't, everyone returns to life as usual (or at the very least, as usual as it ever could be.) That is, until Aziraphale stumbles upon a leather-bound text, tucked away in the corner of his bookshop. The universe can never truly leave them to their own devices, can it?





	The First Temptation

Ever since the prevention of the great and divine plan of the apocalypse and the returning of the world to some sort of ‘normal’, Aziraphale found himself with more and more time on his hands. Of course, this free time was not worry-free, with the looming threat of heaven coming down and smiting Aziraphale for once and for all consistently hanging over the angel’s head, but it still gave him more time than what was comfortable to simply sit and wait. And when you sit and wait for long enough, even with the patience of an angel, one’s curiosity starts to get the best of them. And so, Aziraphale took up the task of taking out each and every single book and cataloging them, mainly for the sake of seeing what damage Adam’s apocalypse-reversal had healed. Dog-eared pages that had been beyond repair were crisp out of a printing press, although a part of Aziraphale missed the way each book had been loved or hated, seeing the humanity present in a way that nothing else could compare to.

  
Regardless, Aziraphale continued to catalog and make note of the changes, the chaotic order of book rearranging and retouching helping soothe his need to make something, anything, right. However, on a quiet Sunday morning, he came across a book. Now, Crowley would make a comment about how Aziraphale had been collecting his books and story artifacts for over 6,000 years, there’s no way the angel could remember each and every one of them, but of all the things he loved most in the universe, his books were undoubtedly in the top three. The other two were food and Crowley himself, but the angel would be damned (quite literally) if it was discovered that when thinking of this list he had not even considered God herself until much later. If Aziraphale had not already gotten himself on Heaven’s bad side, he would be condemned on the spot. And yet, here was this book, this old and faded manuscript with a weathered cover and yellowed pages bound in leather, that Aziraphale had never seen in his life. So out of place in the bookstore of newness and rejuvenation, it stuck out like a sore thumb. Aziraphale slowly pulled the book off the shelf, brushing away dust that had collected on the cover, the title reading _The First Temptation_. Carefully opening the book up to the title page, a large subtitle covered the paper, reading: _Further Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter Concerning the Worlde that is To Com: Ye Saga Continued_.

  
Aziraphale near dropped the book in shock, and then with as much composure as his being allowed, announced in the store intercom that the shop would be closing for the afternoon, to the dismay of the people perusing the shelves. After the last customers finally left the shop 40 minutes later, Aziraphale shut the blinds and lit a candle, taking in the manuscript in its glory. And then, he flipped to the first page, a singular prophecy of three verses taking up the yellowed paper.

> _Reality shall bend and heaven and hell shall unite when souls are grayed like the cat birds. Beware, mine dear Aziraphale, of the holy water that thee partaketh. Remember that drowning forsooth is better than breathing 'i woe._
> 
>   
>  _Mark the plants whom tremble 'i secret. Create a miracle without heaven. And most importantly, may't mention this to mine own nor the one whom bears thy soul, till the instant comes. Thou shall wot when._
> 
>   
>  _Let these bodements guide thy soul to where thy heart lies. Yesterday's numbers were triple six. Today's are triple seven. To-morrow’s numbers shall not matter._

Aziraphale sat in silence, staring at the piece of paper laced with leather for what seemed like hours. There were too many unknown parts, too many words that could mean other things. However, there was one thing that Agnes Nutter had made clear—He could not talk to Anathema about this. Or “the one whom bears thy soul”, which Aziraphale had a sinking feeling meant Crowley. For the first twenty minutes he tried to convince himself that it meant God Herself, but even Aziraphale knew better. If the Almighty knew, it would be because of her ineffable plan, not Aziraphale deciding to try and take things up with Heaven again. He tried not to think too deeply about what Agnes meant about Crowley, the demon that he was, bearing his soul—That was another can of worms the angel was not about to open on a Sunday afternoon.

  
Aziraphale groaned, running his hands through his hair—He really did not want to keep this from Crowley and relive the Apocalypse all over again, but Agnes Nutter had an eye for the future that Aziraphale lacked. After committing every single detail of the prophecy to mind, he carefully tucked the book back away. What was he going to do? He couldn’t exactly say anything to anyone who would understand, and the prophecy itself was vague in ways typical to the witch.

  
Right on cue, the previously locked doors flew open, a lanky demon donning a leather jacket and sunglasses leaning against the door frame. “Closed so early, angel? That’s unlike you—Did you get caught up in a book again? Please don’t tell me you’re reading _Les Misérables_ again. Half of the time reading you’ll be referencing a French-to-English dictionary, and you don’t put it down once you’ve started.” He made a grimaced face, sauntering over and instantly splaying himself on the entirety of the couch, not unlike a cat.

  
“I guess you could say that,” Aziraphale said softly, his focus on the hardwood desk under him. His mind was in another place, one where there were prophecies and omens and the terrifying prospects of the future flying all about.

  
Crowley rose from the couch as quickly as he had descended, instantly bumping shoulders with Aziraphale in a way that was instantly reassuring to the angel. Crowley always had a way to make him _soft_. And _fond_. And heave— hell? knows what else.

“How about we go for a bit of lunch, hm? Get your head out of the clouds, metaphorically speaking.”

  
Aziraphale perked up instantly, worries forgotten in an instant. “Where were you thinking, my dear boy?”

“There’s a new Thai place that opened just down the road—I heard their curries are to die for. Or to live for. Or to take a bite out of and then wonder if celestial beings can really be considered alive, or if we just exist until we don’t and this curry sparks that sudden realization of how much time we have existed in, are existing in, will exist in—” Crowley’s rambling is cut short by a certain angel’s well-intentioned clearing of the throat, expressing growing impatience. The facial gesture could have been executed better, however, if Aziraphale’s eyes weren’t gleaming with amusement.

  
Aziraphale left the room to grab his coat, before briefly glancing at the leather-bound book. If he was the only one Agnes Nutter trusted to handle all of this, he could not just leave it in his shop, which was decidedly not fire-proof. He slipped the text into one of the pockets on the inside of his coat and hurried back over to Crowley, trying to put a damper on his nerves. He had no clue how he was going to go about any of this, but there was a certain comfort Crowley brought that put his mind at ease. He wasn’t sure when the presence of a demon became more reassuring than the heavenly host (although were they ever reassuring? Aziraphale could only feel sorry for poor Mary, Gabriel being the bearer of… _important_ news. How Joseph was ever convinced of Mary’s surprise pregnancy was beyond Aziraphale’s knowledge), but for the afternoon he was grateful for him. The pair exited the bookshop, and sooner than not, the book became an empty weight in Aziraphale’s coat pocket, forgotten in the name of good conversation and the temptation of Thai food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title refers to the song "Heaven is a Place" by Amber Run, which absolutely belongs on some Ineffable Husbands playlist if it isn't on one already.


End file.
